Wednesday, 8 September 2010

Trains of Thought and Horses for Courses . . .

And so another lovely day dawns . . . well, it did about 6 hours or so ago, since then I've been trying to motivate myself to complete - i.e. begin - an assignment that must be done by next Wednesday . . . It is amazing just how many other things compete for ones time when deadlines loom . . . ah well, I'm sure the inspiration will come and in the meantime I sit, like dear old Matty Arnold said, "waiting for the spark from heaven to fall" . . .

I had some sleep last night and woke with lower back ache which is making me feel irritable to say the least; whenever I write something like that I am reminded of Arthur Dent's marvelous comment about dying: "I don't want to die now. I've still got a headache. I don't want to go to heaven with a headache, I'd be all cross and wouldn't enjoy it" Glorious words from the pen of one who is undoubtedly enjoying wherever he is . . . anyhow, so to re-cap it's a lovely day and I feel grumpy!

So what to do about it? Well, I can try intellectualising it but we are of course talking about feelings here and they are notoriously difficult to do that with - slippery little eels of chaps, feelings!

( A Passage of Time)

Hello Dear Readers! Did you think I had deserted you? Well, I did but only because I had a nasty attack of the Trojans; my pc was knee-deep in horses and the resulting mulch has taken many hours to clean up . . . still, they say it's good for the roses so Mrs Cholmondely will be pleased!

It has, however, taken the wind out of my sails somewhat and broken the already perilously fractured chain of thought and left me adrift on the currents . . . Are those rocks I see before my eyes?

Tomorrow begins with a trip along the metal way to see my supervisor in a lovely little villagey green type of place that you would never guess is a stones throw away from the big city; she is a wonder and always makes me feel as though maybe I am doing the right thing . . . she also has a constant supply of green tea which always leaves me standing at the station on the return trip wondering whether the train will have a toilet or not . . . the station certainly doesn't!

Whilst on this somewhat inconvenient subject I was at another station today - our very own Wigan North Western - which recently came high on the UK's worst stations I believe . . . anyhow, I was there to meet Dr T as she returned from up north; as the train pulled in to the platform there was an overwhelming smell of drains and toilets! I would like to assure you that this was nothing to do with the aforementioned Dr but merely a feature of these particular trains; every time I have traveled on one I have had the same experience . . . This is not a feature of any other trans I have traveled on in other parts of the world, I wonder if anyone has brought this to the ears and possibly nose of Mr Branson?

Anyhow, enough of such meanderings; it is time to sleep and dream, perchance.

About Me

Myrtle House, one of two Victorian town houses slumbering in a sleepy backwater and sheltering in the shadow of The Parish Church of All Saints, is the home and E-publishing base of Writer, Blogger, Sophrosyne, Paranomasiac and Opsimath Ian McLoughlin. For contact details please see my full profile ॐ